You Made This Harder Than It Had to Be
by Vita Fidens
Summary: Sequel to "In the End, You'll Find What You Deserve." Dean Ambrose has discovered the blossoming relationship between Molly Parker and Wade Barrett, but he has plans to ensure that it develops no further. Rated M
1. Chapter 1

Wade Barrett awoke after another joyous – if not physically torturous – night of sleeping beside the woman he loved, entirely unaware that they had been visited for the third night in a row by an increasingly-agitated Dean Ambrose.

He glanced down at Molly and smiled, bending to kiss the top of her head. She mumbled in her sleep and nestled deeper into his side, her hand lightly stroking over his chest before she pitched back into her slumber.

He held her for a few minutes more, staving off the day ahead. Although, truthfully, his days hadn't been nearly as desolate as they were before.

Finally unable to delay any further, he gently disentangled himself from her and made his way downstairs to make coffee. He thought he might surprise her with breakfast as well – it had been some time, but he was certain that he'd remember enough to fumble his way through it.

He was pouring his first cup when his wife bustled in.

He stopped, frozen in absolute shock, and nearly dropped the mug before proceeding to pour hot coffee all over his outstretched hand.

"Son of a _bitch_," he cursed heartily, putting both mug and pot on the counter before sticking his hand beneath the faucet and running cold water over it.

"So lovely to see you too, darling," Abigail replied dryly.

"What are you doing here?" He snapped, grabbing a towel to wrap around his hand.

She regarded him coolly. "This is my home."

"The home you abandoned several weeks ago without a word as to your whereabouts," he replied. "The home where you entertained several gentlemen in a manner that broke your marriage vows." He looked at her with a hard expression on his face. "This isn't your home any longer. Leave."

She laughed, a light tinkling sound, and looked at him with great pity. "Oh, darling," she replied, shaking her head. After a brief pause, she continued. "And where is Molly this morning?"

He could feel his face flushing, but he refused to answer.

"Is she…in her room?" His wife gauged his face. "No. Is she…hanging laundry in the back?" He glared angrily at her. "Let me guess. She's upstairs, in our marriage bed, undressed and sleeping off the effects of her evening with you." She tilted her head. "You're a fine one to talk about our marriage vows, are you not?"

"What do you want, Abigail?" He growled, feeling his fists clench tightly by his sides. He had never before hit a woman, but he thought he might make an exception today.

"I simply want to be back in my home with my loving husband. I had a lovely trip away to visit family, and now I've returned."

"You're lying."

"Prove it," she replied sweetly.

Silence reigned for a few moments. "I will get a divorce," he finally said.

"No."

"I didn't ask for your permission. I'm merely telling you what I've already decided."

"I would reconsider that course of action if I were you," she replied, daintily taking a seat at the kitchen table.

"And why is that?"

"You have no proof that I've had a few…indiscretions. However, I caught you in a rather compromising position with our servant girl. I'm quite confident that a young thing like Molly wouldn't have the good sense to keep herself from spilling the details of her grand love affair. Perhaps in a diary of some kind?"

The smugness on her face irritated him beyond measure. She knew that she had him by a rather delicate part of his anatomy.

"The courts won't look too kindly on that, wouldn't you agree? You'd have your divorce, of course – but you'd be left destitute and with a reputation far too broken to ever rebuild." She paused to let these words sink in, and after a fashion she smiled.

"Go get that bitch out of my bed," she said sweetly.


	2. Chapter 2

Wade ascended the stairs numbly, his brain still whirring in a vain attempt to process this new, horrific development. He tried desperately to think of a way through this situation, to think of a way to appease Abigail and allow them to part peacefully. In those few moments, he came up with no possible solution.

His thoughts centered around one depressing fact – he had been so close to having his happy life, so close to giving Molly the life that she deserved.

It simply wasn't fair.

He was surprised to find himself standing over the bed already, standing over her, reluctant to shake her awake and bring her into this nightmare reality.

In the end, he did it anyway.

The smile she gave him when she saw his face upon waking broke his heart. "Molly," he said, his voice grave as he sat on the bed beside her. "There's something we need to discuss."

Her face immediately became somber, noting the flat inflection in his tone. His entire demeanor said that he was, quite suddenly, a broken and defeated man. Molly felt her heart begin to race with fear. "What's happened? What's wrong?"

The expression in her eyes was too much for him, and he looked away. "You need to get up and get dressed," he said. "Bad news is always better handled in clothing."

The silence in the room was palpable after these words left his lips. "Just tell me," she whispered. "Please."

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Repeated that process several times, searching for the words to say that would minimize the severity of the trouble they were in. He could find none, and then the opportunity was taken from him.

"Is she up yet?" His wife finally yelled up the stairs.

Molly's eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth. "No."

He nodded. "I'm afraid so."

She hesitated a moment, confused as to why, exactly, this was bad news. She would finally be able to move her things out of the house and leave the two of them in peace. There would be a final, absolute resolution. It should have made him happy. "Did you tell her about the divorce?"

Suddenly, he felt as if he couldn't breathe – an iron fist squeezed his chest tightly. "Get dressed. Meet me downstairs," he managed to croak, standing abruptly and leaving the room.

His reaction had been enough for her to know that this was a serious issue, and that things had somehow changed. Feeling as if she was moving underwater, Molly dressed and made the bed automatically. She never wanted to leave this room; she wanted to pretend that things were going to continue on the way they had been for the past two weeks.

But she knew that this was impossible. Glancing around the room one last time, some small part of her knowing that she'd never see it the same way again, she descended the stairs and into the anticipation of the worst pain of her young life thus far.


	3. Chapter 3

Abigail felt a rush of satisfaction staring at the two lovers sitting before her, one still in his shorts and the other in a rumpled dress that had obviously hit the floor in haste the previous night.

Things were happening just as she'd hoped they would.

She'd meant it when she told Molly that she could have Wade. Truthfully, she hadn't cared for her husband…well, ever. But he'd been a fun distraction, and stupidly noble enough to marry her when she thought she'd been carrying a child.

The fact that she hadn't been was her greatest relief and also the source of her greatest misery. If she'd been intelligent enough to wait it out, she wouldn't have been trapped in a marriage with this boring stiff of a man. She could be out enjoying her life.

This turned her ambivalence for him into absolute hatred. One of the few things that Abigail had in common with Dean Ambrose was that she wanted to make those she hated suffer in the most devastating way humanly possible.

She could think of no better punishment to inflict on her husband than a broken heart, and Dean had graciously handed her the golden opportunity to do so.

She simply couldn't pass it up.

"I certainly hope," she started slowly, relishing every hateful word, "that you two children have had fun playing house while mummy was away. But playtime is over now, and it's time for your guest to leave." She gestured towards Molly. "It was a mistake bringing her here, and I'll be damned if I let you continue flaunting a relationship directly under my nose. My kindness in that regard led us here. I won't repeat the same mistakes."

"She's not going anywhere," Wade said stubbornly, reaching over and covering Molly's hand with his own.

"Oh yes she is," Abigail snapped. "Unless you want me to sue for divorce, my darling, and leave you with nothing."

"Go ahead," Molly spoke up. "All we need is each other."

Abigail glanced at Wade's face, at the shame and embarrassment on it, and laughed. "Sweetheart, what a perfectly lovely sentiment. A sweet, naïve, ridiculously foolish sentiment. Look at my husband." She paused, waiting for Molly to turn towards her lover. "Look. He doesn't share your feelings on the subject."

Wade wouldn't meet Molly's eyes. She felt her heart sinking into her stomach. Slowly, she pulled her hand away from his. He still refused to look at her.

The realization was swift and harsh, if not entirely misguided. He was choosing material comfort over her, the woman he claimed to love. The woman he had promised to leave his wife for…the wife who was now, conveniently, standing in front of them forbidding them to be together.

She felt like an absolute fool. How she'd not seen that he'd only been using her all this time astounded her, and in that moment her heart shattered completely and irreparably. Her eyes went wide, filling with tears, but she refused to cry. Not in front of _her,_ and certainly not in front of _him_.

"Now dear," Abigail said, her voice an approximation of kindness, "we won't simply send you out into the cold. We'll find a suitable husband for you, one who won't mind that you've been slightly…used."

"Sheamus is a good man," Barrett broke in, his voice hollow. "He's expressed an interest in…." He couldn't bring himself to say her name. "He just managed to have a successful run in Ireland," he continued. "He'd be able to pay her father's debt in exchange. I'll speak to him."

"You're selling me," Molly said flatly. "You're selling me just like my father did."

"No," Wade said gently. "I'm trying to give you a better life."

She heard his words, but believed none of them. All men were the same in the end. They were violent, drunk creatures who took what they wanted from you and passed you along to the next one when you'd outlived your usefulness to them.

In that moment, she resolved to never trust another man. It only ever brought pain.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean Ambrose paced rapidly across his house, waiting for some word from Abigail.

It had been two days since his return, two long days of waiting for her to strike and cleave Barrett from Molly. Two days of drinking and avoiding the Barrett household while the other inhabitants were awake, lest he lose his temper.

He had, however, gone to watch the two of them sleep. The first night he told himself it was to ensure that it hadn't been a one-time occurrence, or that his eyes were playing tricks on him. He'd stood by the bed, motionless, for a half-hour before he'd had to leave.

Dreams of putting a knife in Barrett's chest had necessitated that hasty exit.

The second night, he forced himself to stand and watch longer – perhaps an hour. He needed to be calm and rational about this relationship when it came time for Molly to be his, or he'd punish her rather unfairly.

He had, after all, committed his own indiscretions in Ireland.

He was quite proud of this chain of thought, as he was being far more generous and forgiving than usual. He thought that perhaps Miss Molly was getting a good man as a husband after all. As long as she behaved appropriately from here on out, of course.

Finally, after what felt like weeks of waiting, there was a knock on his door in the early hours of the evening. He practically sprinted to it from the other end of the house, wrenching it open with barely-contained excitement.

He was rewarded by the sight of the coyly-smiling redhead. "Is it done?"

She nodded. "Little Molly is sobbing in her bedroom at the harsh reality that my husband favors money over supposed love, and my darling Mr. Barrett has gone off to discuss the terms of marriage with the Irishman."

The first part of this pleased him greatly; the second part angered him beyond measure. "What?" He hissed, reaching out to grab her by the shoulders. "The Irishman?"

"Yes, the Irishman," she snapped, reaching up to remove his hands from her. "What is the problem?"

"She's supposed to marry _me_," he replied, pinching his fingers on the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off the oncoming headache. This hopeless cow couldn't get anything right.

"You, the Irishman, what does it matter?" She shrugged. "She's not with Mr. Barrett. That was the only request you made of me. Perhaps if you'd seen fit to let me in on the entirety of your little plan, I could have steered things differently for you. But you didn't, and now my part to play is over. So figure that out for yourself, my dear."

He grinned wryly at her, although he felt like wrapping his hands around her throat. "You really are a bitch, Abigail."

"One of the qualities of mine you always seemed to admire," she replied airily.

"I admired your tolerance of my many perversions and your pussy, darling, nothing more," he retorted angrily. She had taken him from the height of joy to the depths of a snarling, black rage. "You are a useless child, and if it served me well at all right now I'd snap your neck and fuck your lifeless corpse."

He shoved past the stunned, shaking woman in his doorway and quickly made his way to Molly, hoping that he wasn't too late.

Once again, it would seem that he was the only person in this world he could rely on to do things the right way.


	5. Chapter 5

He expected Molly to still be in her room when he arrived. He was immensely surprised to see that she was up and walking, vainly attempting to continue on with her usual chores. He had a moment of pity for what he'd done; she looked as if she was a corpse who had yet to hear that she was, in fact, deceased and had returned to continue the hollow activities of everyday living.

"Molly," he said gently. She turned her dead eyes to him, tear tracks down her face.

"Mr. Ambrose," she replied, attempting to suppress a sniffle. "I didn't realize you had returned. Welcome home."

"Are you all right?" He asked, taking two short steps towards her. All this time plotting and planning, and when confronted with her he didn't know exactly how to proceed.

"I…I'm not feeling terribly well today, I'm afraid," she replied with a feeble smile. She was aware that lying was pointless; she was obviously distressed and he would only persist if she insisted that she wasn't.

"You should be in bed, then." He reached for her arm, and she allowed him to take it meekly. They began walking towards the room that would only be hers for a short while longer. She tried not to think about that, desperate to keep further tears at bay.

"How was Ireland?" She asked instead, not caring about the answer but needing a distraction.

He shrugged. "Green. Occasionally red. I missed you terribly." A small smile fell on her lips in spite of her mood. "Did you miss me?" He asked.

"I missed your brashness," she lied. "It was exceedingly dull without the constant wonder of what was going to come out of your mouth next."

He grinned, and after a moment she found herself pinned lightly against the wall beside her door. "Really?" He murmured, lightly taking her hands in his. "At the moment I'm more interested with what will be _in_ my mouth next."

He kissed her roughly, inserting all of the frustration and desire he'd felt the past three weeks into his lips. It was positively dizzying.

She pulled back after a moment. "I can't," she said, her eyes still closed. "I'm sorry."

The anger that had been threatening to boil over all day reached its very limit. "Of course," he replied, attempting to tamp it down. "You're not feeling well. How inconsiderate of me." He paused, stroking lightly up and down her arms, finally stopping with a gentle grip on her wrists. "But _why_ aren't you feeling well?"

She looked at him, confused. "Does it have something to do with being married off to an Irishman after a bloody fool of an Englishman broke his promises to love you for the rest of your miserable lives?"

She fell silent, completely stunned. "How did you know about all that?" She finally asked, swallowing hard – her throat had suddenly gone bone-dry.

He bit his lower lip and leaned closer to her. "When it concerns you, my darling," he said in a low voice, "I'll always find out."

He kissed her again, his mouth harsher this time and his teeth nipping painfully at her lower lip.

"Please," she whispered when he pulled away, "please don't."

"Please don't," he mocked softly, tightening his grip on her wrists. "You need to learn that there are consequences to your actions, Miss Molly." He smiled at her, a smile that looked entirely natural, even as he was slightly shaking his head back and forth. "You can't just go on and break a man's heart and expect to walk away from him unscathed. Especially when that man is me."


	6. Chapter 6

"Now listen," he said sternly as he undressed her, "I don't want to fight. I don't want to have to hurt you or tie you up or gag you again. I just want us to enjoy one another." He paused and glanced up at her face. "Do you think you can do that?"

All he received in reply was a blank stare, and he took that as agreement.

He bent and kissed her neck, scraping his teeth against her skin before lightly sucking on the delicate flesh. She tasted just as good as he remembered.

His hands found her breasts, the reassuring weight of them in his palms making him forget everything else outside of this room, outside of her, and how right it felt to be here with her once again.

Molly, however, only felt a growing sense of wrongness.

She closed her eyes and attempted to simply let things happen. She had no will to fight, no will for a prolonged struggle. She had asked for this not to happen, and he had refused that request. It seemed that was all the energy she could muster for a resistance.

She listened, detached, as his breathing grew increasingly labored. She could feel him becoming aroused and tried to shut out the suddenly intrusive memories she had of her time with Wade. He knelt in front of her and took one of her nipples into his mouth, lightly sucking while his fingers began to play between her thighs.

Her body responded perfectly well to this attention, even as her mind was focusing all of its power on keeping her emotional pain at bay. The moment his teeth sunk into her breast, however, she was immediately present and slapped him hard in the face before she truly realized what she was doing.

She expected him to be angry, but the small smirk on his face led her to believe that he'd expected that response.

"Stay with me," he said firmly. "I understand you're probably in pain and you simply want all of this to go away…but it's not going to. I am here. You need to be here with me."

She shook her head, fresh tears coming to her eyes. "I can't," she said in a pained whisper. "Please. I can't do this."

He lightly touched her cheek. "You're just going to have to," he replied. "It's been two long weeks without you, and I can't wait any longer."

He shoved her towards the bed then, pushing her down onto her back. He undressed quickly, tossing his clothes behind him and letting them fall where they may, before climbing on top of her.

She was mentally prepared for him to continue touching her with his fingers, or to use his mouth. She was even prepared to perform the same acts for him.

She was not, however, prepared for him spreading her thighs and slowly beginning to push himself inside of her.

"No," she balked, pulling away from him and attempting to sit up. He shoved her down immediately and placed a forearm roughly over her throat.

"I'm afraid I'm not able to give you a choice this time, my love," he murmured, pausing in his forward momentum. "If things had gone according to plan, maybe this could have been different for you…could have been better. Unfortunately, these are the circumstances we have, and we must work with them."

With those words, he thrust completely inside of her.


	7. Chapter 7

The pain was unbearable for several moments. She tried to scream, but it only came out as a choking, sputtering coughing noise thanks to the placement of his forearm.

She heard him chuckle vaguely through the pain-induced haze that had become her mind. "I see Mr. Barrett was enough of a gentleman to save you for your future husband. How noble of him."

"Get…off…of…me," she muttered, the words sounding harsh and guttural.

He regarded her calmly. "When I'm done." He forced a smile onto his lips and bent down to kiss her lightly. "The damage is already done, darling. You might as well just lie back and let me finish. I'm not going to stop until I do, and I can either make it bearable or make it hurt more. That decision is yours."

These few moments without movement were severely testing his self-control. She felt positively divine; tight walls squeezing against him, gripping him in all the right spots, forcing his mind to repeat one overarching thought over and over again – simply _move_.

When she said nothing, that's precisely what he did.

He tried to be gentle at first; he tried to move slowly and be sweet to her. He even took his forearm away from her throat, allowing his hands to wander over her face and breasts in a desperate attempt to stimulate her.

He gave that up when he saw the tears running down her face.

It made him unreasonably angry. Yes, she might have been in some sort of emotional pain. Yes, he was certain he'd surprised her with this bold move. But he was right here, attempting to do something out of character and be nice for a change, and she couldn't even be bothered to pretend that she appreciated it.

He rested his body on top of hers then and began to move with more urgency, began to thrust a little harder, a little deeper. She whimpered in pain, and he felt a savage sense of joy rush through him. So he increased his efforts. And then increased them again.

And then again.

The little bed was slamming violently into the wall, his mind a muddled mixture of anger and lust and pleasure and loathing while he moved inside of her.

He gripped her hair tightly in one hand, pushing her head to the side to allow him access to her neck. He bit her there with no remorse, smiling at the racing pulse pressed to his lips, delighted at the cry of pain that escaped her mouth.

"You," he panted, "are making it very difficult for me to not be disappointing." He punctuated this statement with a rough thrust, one that made her bite her lip and tears fill her eyes again.

"Tell me you like this," he purred in her ear. "Tell me this feels good."

She was silent, defiant. He could barely keep the smile from his face as he slapped her. "Molly," he said warningly. "Don't make me hurt you."

"I…I like this," she whispered.

"Speak up." He paused in his thrusting. "I can't hear you."

She closed her eyes. "I like this," she said, her voice dull and without inflection.

"Why do you like this?"

"Because it…feels…good."

"Very good," he murmured, bending down to kiss her and beginning to move again, this time more slowly. "Do you see what happens when you cooperate? I can be nice. I _want_ to be nice to you."

She started sobbing. "Please just finish. Just get this over with."

That blackness that had been swirling around his head for the past several days took hold in his chest again, and his hands wrapped tightly around her throat before he gave it any conscious thought. "Don't _tell _me how to _fuck_ you," he snarled.

"I'm sorry," she said desperately. "I'm sorry."

He closed his eyes, trying hard to tame the beast that had burst through his chest. He released her throat and without a word began thrusting into her roughly again, burying his face in the nook of her neck and inhaling her scent, forcing pleasant memories of their previous dalliances to the forefront of his mind.

He could feel himself falling over the edge and he held her tightly while he did, gasping and panting while the physically satisfying but mentally joyless orgasm spilled out of him and into her.

For several moments, the only sound in the room was the sound of her soft sobbing. It irritated him to no end.

"Shut up," he snapped, rolling off of her. "I won't be able to sleep with you crying like a child beside me."


	8. Chapter 8

Molly lay awake for several hours, trying to keep herself quiet lest Mr. Ambrose wake again.

He had pulled her into his arms in a gross approximation of intimacy and fallen asleep with his chin on top of her head, his arms still clutching her tightly.

She felt disgusting, both physically – an unbearable stickiness had settled between her thighs – and spiritually. He had taken the last thing she'd held dear in this world, the one thing she had to offer a man who might treat her with respect and decency.

Now she was no better than a whore.

In fact, she briefly considered the life of a brothel worker while lying there with Mr. Ambrose draped around her. It might be preferable to be paid to have a man use you. In a way, there was power in such action – it was owning yourself, owning your own body, and only allowing those you deemed worthwhile to share it.

She certainly didn't feel any sense of power right now, and so this was the fantasy she clung to. She clung to the hope of having a choice, because the choice had been taken from her today in a brutal and heartless fashion.

Every nasty thought that she'd had about the nature of men had been confirmed for her today.

A not-unsubstantial part of her mind wondered what would become of her now. Would Mr. O'Shaughnessy still want to marry a woman who was more than 'slightly used,' as Mrs. Barrett had put it? Or would he reject her as being too damaged?

She found herself hoping that the Irishman with kind eyes wouldn't be like the others. But she quickly pushed that thought away. Of course he would be. Trying to believe anything else was only a recipe for further heartache, and she refused to subject herself to that kind of pain again.

Mr. Ambrose began stirring beside her, and she quickly closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. After several minutes, she felt the light touch of his lips on her forehead and he carefully began to move away from her in the bed, eventually departing it entirely.

She heard him rummaging through his pants and, after a fashion, heard the strike of a match and smelled the new scent of tobacco smoke. She kept her back to him, praying that he would dress and leave after his cigarette.

Her luck was simply not that good today.

He came back into the bed, this time on the other side, and curled himself around her back. "I know you're awake," he said in a low voice. "You should try to get some rest."

She was quiet for a few moments, an internal debate on whether or not to answer him at all raging in her mind. "I'm not tired," she ultimately replied.

"You're exhausted. I can't imagine this has been an easy day for you."

She closed her eyes tightly. She desperately needed someone, anyone, to talk to about this – but she wasn't sure she could bring herself to confide in the man who had just forced himself on her.

"What's going to happen to me?" She eventually asked in a choked whisper, unable to contain that harrowing thought for another moment. "What happens to me now?"

"I'm going to marry you," Mr. Ambrose replied, the surprise evident in his voice. "Darling, that's what this has been all about. Barrett would never allow me to marry you otherwise. He forced my hand."

She closed her eyes as tears – of relief? Of fear? – spilled onto her cheeks.

Mr. Ambrose's hand came up and stroked through her hair. "You and I will be happy, Molly, I promise you. Just give in to me. Surrender your doubt and your fear, and I will make your life easy and blissful."

Easy. Blissful. It sounded wonderful.

"I don't have to love you?" She asked, knowing that her battered heart was entirely incapable of such an action.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "Truthfully, my sweet Molly, I do believe that love is something I'm not quite capable of. Just respect me and obey me, and you will have a good life. I promise you."

She considered his offer for several minutes before nodding slowly. Surrender doubt, surrender fear, obey, and respect. It was a list of commands she was sure she could follow, and it took away the painful options she had been considering.

After the decision was made, she slept peacefully until the morning light streamed in through her window.


	9. Chapter 9

Wade knew that the time had come to confront Molly and tell her that Sheamus had accepted his offer – quite joyously, actually – and that they would be wed within the week.

His heart, however, felt like it was forged of steel in his chest when he thought of performing that action, of saying those words that would make things so final.

He hated Abigail more than he'd ever hated another human being…but she had him, dead to rights. He wouldn't survive with a tarnished reputation, and it wasn't a life he'd subject Molly to. So that left him with the painful option in front of him.

She was young. Her heart would bounce back and flourish. She might even grow to love Sheamus, in time. She could be happy.

That was truly all he wanted. Her happiness.

Attempting to keep that thought to the forefront, and discarding selfish thoughts of his own pain, he rapped his knuckles on her door. And waited. And rapped again. And waited.

Frowning, he pushed the door open to see a sight that immediately made him nauseous – Dean Ambrose, wrapped tightly around Molly as they both slumbered peacefully. Blood had soaked through the sheet at the mid-level of the bed, and he had a horrifying notion of what had happened.

Ambrose yawned and stretched, blinking a few times before smiling at Wade. "Good morning, Mr. Barrett," he said pleasantly.

Molly's eyes flew open.

"What is this?" Barrett asked, attempting to keep his temper in check.

"I couldn't wait another moment to see Molly," Ambrose replied blandly. "We had a wonderful reunion, and…well, would you like to tell him, darling?" He smiled at Molly encouragingly, annoyed when her eyes filled with tears and she said nothing.

"She's agreed to marry me. Isn't that wonderful news?" He was beaming, relishing the dark red flush that was falling over Barrett's features.

"Molly," he said after several moments. "Is this true?"

She glanced down at her lap before glancing up at him again, anger and defiance in her face. "Yes," she replied. "Yes, I'm going to marry Mr. Ambrose."

Wade dropped his head and closed his eyes against the rush of tears. He'd driven her to this. "Are you sure?" He asked hollowly. "You weren't forced into this decision?"

"I'm sure."

The conviction, the anger in her voice – it stunned him into agreement. "I wish you both nothing but happiness," he said quietly. "Molly, you may stay until the wedding if you find that appropriate. Mr. Ambrose, congratulations. You have a wonderful woman."

That was the extent of his good nature. He quickly left the room, refusing to look back.


	10. Sequel

Thank you all so much for reading, reviewing, PMing, Tweeting ( VitaFidens), sending smoke signals, whatever you do to let me know that you're reading and not hating what you see.

The next part is up - "This Cold Reality I Have Made." Enjoy.


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